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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702114">Freebird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenhouse793/pseuds/greenhouse793'>greenhouse793</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:35:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenhouse793/pseuds/greenhouse793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about the army was that there were so many fucking rules.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Freebird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing about the army was that there were so many fucking rules. There were rules about when you should wake up in the morning and when you could sleep. There were rules about when you could shower and for how long. Rules about smokes and rules about alcohol and rules about fraternization (as his fancy pants C.O. had called it) and rules about the drills and rules about how to safely handle a gun (as if he hadn't spent his entire life around guns) and rules about the rules and rules about the rules for when you broke the rules about the rules.</p><p>Somehow, Ian had always imagined that being in the army would be about the honor and prestige, not about the monotony and sense of imprisonment. Basic training was all repetition - going over the same tasks over and over ad nauseam, from before dawn until after dusk and sometimes even running through the night, just for flavour. It left him exhausted and worn thin and left his mind idle to dwell over and over on everything he had tried to leave behind.</p><p>Mickey had always been the jailbird. His life was a study of irreverence towards the law, yet he couldn't ignore the rules. The rules said he couldn't kiss Ian. Or hold his hand. Or tell him he loved him. But Ian had never given two shits about the rules. His spirit was a free one, and he was damned if he was going spend his life behind bars. In a cage. On the wrong side of a barbed wire fence. </p><p>Maybe, if he had made it to West Point, if he had been an officer, things would have been different. He could have been the ones barking the rules about the rules, or even on the front lines of battle, which seemed to him less chaotic than the daily living in South Side Chicago.</p><p>To put it frankly, Ian wanted out. He ran here to get away from the pain that had become everything Mickey. To see if he could fully fit in somewhere, for once in his life, to be useful. </p><p>But once you started running, once you muscled past the burning pain in your ribcage and the endorphins kicked in with a flood of euphoria, it was almost impossible to stop. </p><p>Stealing the helicopter was easy. Flying it was even easier. He knew enough about how machines worked to start the rotors. To lift off of the ground. He didn't have to know how to land the damn thing. Irrelevant.</p><p>The ground fell farther and farther beneath him, the large military compound looking like no more than the size of Liam's toy train set. Ian's ears began to ring with the change in pressure. He let out a whoop that he could barely hear over the roar of the rotors. </p><p>So this was what it felt like to soar.</p><p>Ian jabbed at the autopilot controls. He rolled open the helicopter door and the wind surged up to greet him like an enthusiastic puppy. A startled laugh burst from his chest as he raised his hand to fend off the invisible licks of welcome home.</p><p>He spread his wings.</p>
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